The Keeper's Shadow (41 page)

You must prevail, Roan of Longlight.

A wash of radiant light pours over him as Orin the librarian steps forward to stand at his side. One by one, Dirt Eaters emerge from the crowd of onlookers to join him, channeling their life force in Roan's defense.

No one moves. No one speaks. Sari raises a hand and the attack is terminated. But Roan can see she does not believe herself defeated. She is merely recognizing a stalemate, reserving her life and death assault to confront him another day. He knows with a certainty that she believes this possible. It is part of the madness the Dirt brings to those who use it: they forget that without it, they are only human; their powers, both real and imagined, gone.

As he steps close to Sari, Roan almost reels from the smell of Dirt on her. “Good luck with your cleansing, Mountain Lion. I know it will not be easy.”

At Roan's nod, Apsara head over to separate Sari and her companions, and divest them of their Dirt. But before Roan walks away, Haron catches his eye. He'd been the first to talk to Roan about his great-grandfather; he claimed Roan of the Parting as friend. Roan knows now that it had all been lies.

Looking into the old man's steely gray eyes, Roan whispers, “I consider this our first victory against Darius, an old betrayal finally answered.”

Two years ago the bitterness in Haron's eyes would have crushed Roan; now it's not even disappointing—there are some minds Roan knows he cannot change. So he turns his back on the old man and smiles at Orin—best to concentrate on the ones he can.

PRISONS

ONE OF THE WAZYA, THREE SINGERS ON EACH PALM, SHALL GUIDE THEM TO THE EASTERN EDGE OF THE EARTH'S DISGRACE. THERE, BENEATH THE CRATERS OF THE MOON'S TWO FACES, TO A CHOIR OF EARTH'S SONG, THE APSARA WILL BE FREED BY THE SON OF LONGLIGHT.

—THE BOOK OF LONGLIGHT

F
OR THE LAST FOUR DAYS,
Mabatan has lain curled up on her bed. Though she drinks water and eats food, her mouth feels dry, her stomach empty. Ende keeps reminding her that she is not Kira, but how does that knowledge help when Kira's suffering is her own?

Kira's in a box. She cannot stand—Mabatan, are you there? Are you listening? —She cannot stretch. She curls, knees to her chest, swollen lips pressed over the pinholes that provide air, but it is not enough. Never enough. Her lungs ache. Her heart races. Races—Mab? Mab? —Time floats. Weeks pass. No. Not that long. She can tell because of the bruises. The bruises and the cuts are still fresh. The smell of her own blood nauseates her. If only she had air but there isn't enough. —Help me breathe, Mab. Help. —She practices swordplay in her head. Lunge and thrust. Recover. Twist. Stab. Slide. Jab. Lunge. Recover. If only she could breathe. —Mabatan, you'll teach me. When I get out. How to follow the path. The Way of the Wazya. I'll get out. Willum will come. Maybe not. Mab, are you listening? Are you there? —Her tongue is fat. Thick. The smell of blood overwhelming. Her heart races. But time. Time moves slowly. Very slowly.

The crickets hum. Mabatan wants to tell them to take it out, take the enabler out. She wants to scream it. But then who will Kira have to talk to? There would be no witness to her suffering. It's hard to breathe—Kira. Kira. I am here, Kira. I am listening. You will come back—Time floats. Her lungs ache—Willum will find a way and he will come. I will take you into the new forest and you will teach me the ways of the sword. Kira. Breathe. Breathe! I
am
here. I
am
here.

Ende is squeezing water over Mabatan's swollen lips. Roan can't make out anything she's saying. “Is she alright?”

“What does it look like?” snaps Ende.

Roan and Lumpy had come here the instant they'd returned from Oasis, hoping desperately for good news. But things have obviously only gotten worse. Lumpy clutches Mabatan's hand. Her sleeve slides back and he gasps. Her skin is livid with welts and bruises.

“Her body is covered in them,” Ende's voice is tight with frustration. “It reacts to the trauma as if it were real. We need to use that Allayer.” Roan and Lumpy exchange an uncomfortable glance. The eruption from Ende is instantaneous. “What is wrong with you! It's only a matter of time before they find Kira's enabler. Do you want to lose them both?”

Mabatan begins to gasp, greedily gulping air. “I can breathe. I can breathe. But can't stand. Oh. My knees. Can't feel my legs. Falling. That hurt. But I can breathe.” Mabatan's eyes open wide. “Hold my arms, Lumpy. Hold them!”

Roan rushes forward to help, but still they are hard pressed to hold her down, her screams so piercing Roan almost doesn't hear Lumpy's anguished refrain, “They're breaking Kira's arms, Roan. Roan, they're…”

Water. It's good. Maybe drugged. She'd know soon enough. Her eyes. She can barely open. A man. An ugly, ugly man with a half-smile. Well, I'm not smiling back.—Mab? I'm not smiling back. If my mouth wasn't so dry, I'd spit in his face. Mab? Mab? I'm scared now. Blue needle claws on his fingers. They're making me scared.

Watching Mabatan's face swell while she howled in agony had made the decision easy. This had to be stopped. Now.

An acknowledgment passes between Roan, Lumpy, and Ende. But just as the Allayer is about to be activated, Mabatan grabs Roan, drawing him close.

“No,” she gasps in his ear. “Not yet. Please. I must not leave Kira. Must not. Please.”

“It will kill you, Mabatan.”

“No. Not yet. There is something…I've seen…I'm not sure…something important…please.”

Roan looks up at Ende and Lumpy.

“She's delirious.” Ende's furious, but Roan knows her anger is fueled by her fear for Kira and the weight of having to choose between her loyalty to her granddaughter and the life of a friend.

So Roan keeps his voice as calm as possible. “What if she's right? She says there's something she needs to hear. Am I not supposed to believe her?”

Ende's glare is an indictment, accusing him of being numb to Mabatan's pain, though Roan would like nothing more than to free her.

Lumpy frowns. “It's Roan's choice.” The bitter edge in his voice makes it clear what he'd do if the choice was his.

Mabatan tenses. Roan knows she's suppressing a scream. One and then another and another. “Mabatan.”

“Not…yet…”

Mab. I can't hear anymore. I can't hear. Can you? Mab. Someone's trying to get in my head. Is it you? I'm so tired. That can't be you. Mab?
Stop him, Mab. He's in my head. Stop him. Stop him. He's taking my mind, Mab. Mab! Please, Mab. Please. Stop him. Get out, Mab. Get out.
Get out! Get out!!

“Now!” Mabatan wails and Lumpy initiates the Allayer. Her hand still clenching Roan's shirt, Mabatan shakes violently, her wide eyes vacant. But when she slowly shifts her gaze to his face, Roan realizes she's sobbing and gently takes her into his arms.

“Someone very powerful…took everything…she could not stop him. He took it all from her mind…Kira's village…Ende…the Caldera…Willum. She could not stop him. Roan. She could not. He was too strong.”

Ende, ashen-faced, whispers, “Did he kill her?”

“I don't know. I don't know.”

As Mabatan's body convulses with grief, Roan holds her tighter, trying to absorb some of her pain. His own head is about to explode. What do they do? What do they do now?

Willum and Stowe have been training for hours. Every once in a while he staggers and she retreats. Then he insists that they go on. Days. It's been days since she'd run in exhausted, demanding that they break Kira out, but Willum's reaction had dampened her fury. It was obvious he'd considered this eventuality—how could she have imagined that he hadn't? But he, who always had a dozen possible responses to every problem, had only one now: wait. They had no way of knowing what Kordan had discovered. He already has them under surveillance. To act might not only jeopardize Kira's chances of survival, but the success of their entire enterprise.

Willum's fist is plowing toward Stowe's face and she watches it come, then at the last moment she jerks back, her chin nicked by his knuckles. Too slow. Find the rhythm of the attacker's mind. Then dance with him.

Without warning, he twirls with a cross-kick. This time she gives full focus to the movement, echoes his body, and meets his twirl and kick with the same. He strikes again with his fist, and this time she matches him, blow for blow, drawing him closer and closer, till he's almost in position. Her hand is perched above his face when he falls abruptly to his knees. He is perfectly still except for a solitary tear that traces a slow path down his cheek. Has Kira died? She dares not ask. But when she tries to retreat, unsure of what comfort she can offer, he holds onto her and his dry sobs shake her, until the dim winter light fades and darkness surrounds them.

A knock on the door thunders into their silence. Willum stands, composing himself.

Master Querin enters and light floods the room. Stowe's blood freezes. Assuming her most irritated air, she snarls, “Yes?”

Taking a small box from his pocket, he places it in the center of the floor and flicks it on. “Spies, as you know, are everywhere. This will allow us to speak privately—at least for the moment.” With a terrifying smile, his gaze locks on Willum. “I've had the most interesting encounter with…your sister.”

Willum remains expressionless. Stowe works hard to harness her fear, her rage. She suppresses her desire to act, to scream, to kill. Extending her awareness beyond the room, she senses no Clerics outside. He's come alone. Why? Though she desperately wants to catch Willum's eye, she stares ahead, looking as surprised as possible.

“She is very strong, your sister. Her resistance was extraordinary.”

When will Willum speak? They are two to Querin's one. He came alone!

“I have proclaimed her guilty as charged. We follow the inspired guidance of Our Stowe in meting out our punishment: your sister's expulsion to the Devastation has been initiated.”

“What do you want?” Stowe can hear the murder in Willum's voice. She is ready.

Querin squints inquisitively at Willum. “Apsara. Enemy of Darius. You are treacherous, of that I have no doubt. But I must determine the nature of your treachery. To that end, I shall test the prophecy.”

“What prophecy?”

Querin's dark eyes glaze over. “Beneath the craters of the moon's two faces, to a choir of earth's song, the Apsara will be freed by the son of Longlight.” Querin pauses, his gaze shifting from Stowe to Willum and back again. “I have never doubted you, Our Stowe. But now I find you are under the sway of a man who may be dangerous. Very dangerous. Let the events unfold as they may. I will pray, for your sake, Our Stowe, that your brother does save my captive. Otherwise Willum is not the friend you think he is and we will have to eliminate him…and perhaps even…you.”

THE PROPHECY

IN THE CITY, WHERE YOU LEAST EXPECT IT, YOU WILL FIND A TRUE DEFENDER OF THE FAITH.

—JOURNAL OF ROAN OF THE PARTING

“P
ROPHET, WHAT IS YOUR WILL
? Shall we evacuate?” Wolf's voice is urgent but respectful.

“Mabatan says nothing came up about this location,” Roan replies. “At least not before she was separated from Kira…Exercise caution. Double the patrols. We should be ready to move if we have to. We'll need some alternate locations.”

“It will be done.”

Roan's happy to be having the meeting. Addressing the obvious necessary details is all there is between him and despair. If Willum is exposed, then what of Stowe? He'd wanted to contact her through the ring but didn't dare—what if he distracted her at a crucial moment?

“Ende?”

“The eclipse is in ten days. Not enough time to move my people from the Caldera. At this time of year, the journey is too dangerous for the elderly and the children. So we prepare for siege. Alandra's being taken there—it is the only place we can guarantee her safety…at least for the time being.”

Earlier, Ende had conferred with him about Alandra's situation. She'd needed final confirmation that the healer was not to be awakened. The Apsara were keeping his friend alive, but only just, and she felt she had to warn him that even if Alandra were able to withdraw from the Hydra and return to her body, she might never be able to regain her previous strength and control. He'll have to take what comfort he can in the fact that all that can be, is being done for her. Trying to shake off his worries, he thanks Ende and returns to the matters at hand.

“Kamyar?”

But before Kamyar can respond, Wolf rounds on him. “Yes, Storyteller. Stinger expected new recruits yesterday but they never arrived.”

Surprisingly, Kamyar does not reply with his usual glib retort. Instead, he shakes his head and sighs heavily. “There is a strange lethargy in the villages. The people are aimless and exhausted. They say a demon is stealing their dreams. These people are not enabled, Roan. How is Darius doing it?”

Roan, unsure of how to express what he knows, looks at Ende.

“Darius has sought to control an Overshadower,” she says, training her gaze first on Kamyar, then on Wolf.

Kamyar blanches, but Wolf leaps up. “Enemy to the Friend! The great darkness which casts his shadow over the sun. But Prophet, you said the Friend will pull the sun from the shadow.”

Roan looks at the warrior in amazement. The Overshadower is the Friend's enemy? Why not join together, then, to fight their common foe? The god had told Roan they would meet when Roan returned to the Dreamfield to destroy Darius's Throne. And Ende had said if they fought Darius, they would fight the thing he feeds. So, what possible purpose could it serve to kill the Friend? Why—

Roan starts when Kamyar touches his arm. Realizing he must have been staring off into space, he looks at the others sheepishly. “Sorry, I—”